Chapter Text
Jen could remember her early childhood with Judy in only vague little flashes. So much had happened between them; for so many years of Jen’s life, everything that happened to her happened to Judy as well. They’d experienced everything as a unit, until they didn’t. The more Jen tried to relive what they had together, the more she forgot. It felt almost like remembering her mother. The parts of her life that contained her mother were also the ones occupied by memories of Judy. It felt, looking back, like a separate life entirely. As she waited in her car, still hesitating to pull her key from the ignition—as if leaving it there gave her an out, as if once she took it out she couldn’t just as easily put it back in and take off by her own volition and pretend this never happened—she tried to recall a story, a meaningful one, one that maybe even Judy wouldn’t remember unless Jen relayed it to her, that would stand out. It reminded her of the months after her mother’s death, when her mother’s friends and family members were hungry for any story or anecdote Jen could feed them, since she’d spent the most time with her, and her mind would come up blank. If someone asks you to recall a story from the first 19 years of your life, how are you meant to pinpoint one? The request was all-encompassing; they spent almost every day together. And with Judy, it was the same. It was routine, the time they spent together. Like Judy was an extension of herself. Their time blended together so seamlessly, any time spent with Judy feeling so uneventful, and so comfortable , at the time. All that came to her were the landmarks of their friendship.
__________
She remembered meeting Judy; tiny Judy, with her messy bangs and tattered overalls, feet that barely reached the floor swinging freely from her metal chair under a wooden table. In her second grade class, there weren’t desks, there were tables, Jen remembered. Long wooden tables, each with two chairs tucked behind them. And Jen had hated that setup the moment she’d seen it, knowing whoever was seated beside her would be “buddy” for the remainder of the year, and Jen didn’t like making friends, especially ones she was forced to make.
The moment Judy sat down she was the enemy in Jen’s eyes; the person who would be taking up room at her table. She was already grumpy enough on that first day, because her mom had forced her to wear a dress and Jen had begrudgingly allowed her mother to french braid her hair and take pictures of her. She resented the fact that Judy was allowed to wear overalls on the first day, ones she had clearly played outside in, and probably did her own hair, Jen had thought, because it hung in loose pigtails that were entirely uneven. Jen thought they looked dumb, but was more jealous than anything, because at least her hair wasn’t knotted so tightly that it was hurting her scalp.
The teacher made sure to inform Jen that Judy was new to town and asked that Jen be extra nice to her, since she wasn’t there to make friends in kindergarten or first grade like all of the other kids, and asked that Jen show her where things were if she ever got lost. Jen agreed, of course, because she knew she had no other choice.
“Hi,” Judy said as she hopped into her seat, that she was just a little too short for. “I’m Judy!” Judy reached out a hand for Jen to shake, which was more formal than Jen had expected, from a fellow seven year old, but she clearly wasn’t shy, and was energetic as anything. Judy’s feet were kicking hard enough for her whole body to bounce in place. Judy was comfortable being as small as she was, while Jen always wanted people to think she was bigger, older, not a little girl. The toes of Jen’s shoes clung to the tiles beneath her, her legs just long enough for her toes to touch the floor if she pointed them, so she did, just to show Judy and her classmates that she was big enough to reach.
“I’m Jen,” Jen reached out, her hand laying like a dead fish in Judy’s, who shook it weakly. “The teacher called me Jennifer, but I don’t like Jennifer, or Jenny. Just Jen.”
Judy nodded, playing her fingers through the frayed ends of her fresh-cut bangs. “You should tell her.”
“Huh?” Jen asked, too busy shoving the tip of her pencil into divots in the wooden table, as if to color them in.
“That you like being called Jen! That way she doesn’t call you Jennifer and make you mad.”
“I’m not mad,” Jen had said quickly, defensively. But when she saw Judy’s frown she couldn’t help but add “Yeah. I was gonna tell her. I will.” The truth of the matter was that Jen was incredibly shy, but she couldn’t let Judy know that. She wasn’t a little kid anymore, and big kids weren’t supposed to be shy.
“Your dress is pretty,” Judy had said, completely unprompted. “And your hair. You look like a princess! I can do a braid like that. But not on myself. My mom let me do it to her hair once, but she didn’t wear it out anywhere. She fell asleep.”
Why did she talk so much? Jen had wondered. It was kind of annoying. She huffed. “I hate princesses.”
Judy frowned. “Sorry. But your hair is so pretty. Yellow is my favorite color.”
Jen furrowed her eyebrows, offended, as almost everything offended her at that age. “My hair isn’t yellow , it’s blonde ,” Jen spat, enough for Judy to flinch, “And why is yellow your favorite? It’s pee color.”
Judy shrunk in her seat. “Sorry. Blonde is one of my favorites too, then.” Jen rolled her eyes at that. “I like yellow because it’s happy. Like the sun. And the moon, sometimes.”
The next thing Jen could remember was their teacher, whom she couldn’t remember the name of, at this point, coming over to their table to talk to Judy. The two of them were engrossed in their current assignment, which was drawing a picture of what they did this summer, using the box of crayons the teacher had given them.
“Judy, how is your first day going? Are you getting along well with Jennifer?” The teacher asked quietly, leaning down close to Judy, as if Jen wouldn’t be able to hear them.
“It’s good!” Judy said simply. She hadn’t looked up at the teacher, her eyes fixed on the paper where she was busying herself with coloring in the sun she’d drawn in the corner of the paper with her little yellow crayon that she’d torn the Crayola label off of. “And she likes Jen,” Judy added without looking up.
“What was that?”
Judy looked up at her now, “You called her Jennifer, but she told me she only likes to be called Jen,” she said matter-of-factly, going back to coloring.
The teacher turned to Jen. “Well, I didn’t know that, is that true?” She’d asked. And Jen nodded shyly to confirm.
“Good to know, then. I’ll make note of that, Jen.” The teacher flashed her a subtle smile before walking away.
Jen wasn’t used to such effortless acts of kindness. Kids usually weren’t so considerate.
“Thanks…” was all she could say to Judy at the time.
___________
Over the past few months, Jen’s so-called “obsession” with Judy Hale was growing stronger. The fact that it was an obsession was deemed by Ted, of course. He’d decided this long before he died, and Jen found this ridiculous, but even so, this didn’t hold her insecurities at bay. She swallowed it down for years; kept from talking about Judy in front of Ted, bought her magazines in secret and hid them in her nightstand. She’d go out and see any movie Judy Hale had a part in in theatres while Ted was away on tour. Her children weren’t even allowed to know of her friendship with Judy, even if Henry was a fan; watched her show consistently for all six seasons even if Ted was hellbent on calling it bottom-tier television.
Ted never explicitly told her that she wasn’t allowed to tell the boys, but given the way he stiffened and clenched his jaw at any mention of Judy’s name, she knew better. It wasn’t until weeks after he died, two glasses of wine deep that she told Henry that Judy had once been her best friend in the world. She’d even shown him the photo albums she had hidden in her closet, because apparently a nine year old was her only confidant at this point in her life. She’d lost her husband, her mother, her best friend in the world. Even her father felt like a stranger; her mother had been the only link between them, and her death pulled them apart even further.
Henry told Charlie about Judy, and Charlie insisted Jen reconnect with her, because then maybe she’d be less miserable, he’d reasoned. It was a fair thing to suggest. Hurtful, but fair, Jen thought. But there was no way she could possibly get back in contact with Judy, she assured him that she’d tried for years. She was an A-list celebrity now, living in New York City as far as Jen could tell. What was Jen meant to do? Look her up in a phone book?
It had seemed impossible to reach her now. From the time she was 19, she tried, she really had, until she came to the conclusion that Judy had simply grown out of needing her. It seemed impossible, that is, until one week ago, when Judy Hale released her very own children’s book. Charlie had held up his phone screen, showing Jen a post about it on his Instagram.
She’d squinted at it. “What is this? What are you showing me?”
“It’s about Judy Hale. She has a book out.”
Jen had been dismissive about it at first. “Okay? What about it?”
“Mom, she’s doing a pop-up in Irvine, for a book signing. You have to go.”
Jen had shut him down at first, insisting that she wasn’t about to show up to a signing that would probably overrun with seven year old girls and their mothers.
It was on Friday night, he told her. He and Henry would be going to Lorna’s that weekend, and she should at least consider it, he insisted.
She’d insisted there was no way Judy would recognize her after all these years. Even if she did, what happens then? She pays for an autograph and goes home? What if Judy wasn’t the same person that she used to be?
So she left him with that. Henry insisted as well; since he was such a huge fan, he thought maybe he’d get the chance to meet her if they reconnected.
She gave both of the boys a hard no before they left for Lorna’s on Friday, but she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about it. Even if she’d decided Judy didn’t need her anymore, she knew deep in her heart that she needed Judy, even more now than she did as a child. And she couldn’t shake the thought that if she didn’t see Judy again at least once, she’d regret it for the rest of her life. So, with the high likelihood that this would not go the way she hoped that it would, she decided it was alright to keep the boys in the dark about this.
Jen decided she would drive there, at least. She could just scope it out. She was allowed to turn around and go back home whenever she wanted; wouldn’t have to be embarrassed if she backed out, because who would know?
And now, here she was. Sitting in her car alone, staring into the shop window, trying to make out where Judy might be.
Oddly enough, the store seemed somewhat empty. Jen checked the date and time of the event on her phone. She had both right. It was meant to end at 8PM, and it was ten minutes of 8 now—she’d wanted to catch the tail end of this. But, where was everyone? Jen had assumed the line would be out the door, yet there was no line at all. There were maybe three customers inside, as far as Jen could tell through the front window. She wondered if she should turn around and go back home.
“Fuck it,” Jen sighed. She might as well check.
Jen pulled herself together as she climbed out of her car, evening out the bottom of her blouse, smoothing out her shirt, fixing her hair. She felt pathetic, like a schoolgirl on her first date, when she knew Judy might not even know who she was—might not even care.
Jen had to ask herself over and over: is this the same Judy who braided your hair under the bleachers?
__________
Recess was miserable for Jen before she met Judy. She’d gotten used to pacing around by herself, or sitting in a secluded spot where no one could see that she was all by herself, because most kids weren’t half as kind as Judy was.
The second grade boys had made up a game of picking a random girl and chasing her around the field, like a game of tag no one asked to be involved in. Jen knew she was toast when a sticky-fingered little redhead boy pointed directly at her and yelled her name. All six boys took off in her direction, and all she could do was book it towards the bleachers. She could hide under there, she thought. The students weren’t allowed outside the teachers’ line of vision, so they knew as well as she did that they weren’t allowed behind them. They’d have to stop, she thought. She ran so fast she hardly noticed a teacher yelling “ Boys !” disapprovingly, or the fact that they’d stopped chasing her. She kept sprinting, her adrenaline pumping. The bleachers were tall enough that she could almost walk right under them, only needing to duck her head slightly to fit. But she was stopped short as she ducked under the bars, her hair yanked so hard she assumed someone had grabbed a handful and pulled. It stung so badly that her eyes immediately filled up with tears.
Not until she reached behind her did she realize her hair was caught in a loose screw. She sobbed and shook while she did her best to unravel it. As soon as she freed herself she moved in deeper, making sure she was entirely out of everyone’s view and curling up with her arms wrapped around her knees. She could sneak out after recess, she thought. No one saw her come under here, hopefully.
Once Jen started crying, she could rarely stop herself. When she felt the back of her hair and realized her braid had been completely ruined, she cried even harder, ripping her hair out of the braid completely. She probably looked like an idiot , she thought.
Before she could break into a new fit of sobs, she heard a raspy, hushed little voice calling out “Jen? Is that you?”
Of course it was Judy. And she didn’t need to duck underneath the bleachers like Jen did, she was small enough to stand up straight without bumping her head, and she walked right in.
Jen quickly turned and faced the opposite direction, trying to quiet her sobs, hoping Judy would leave her alone if she didn’t respond. But Judy was more determined than that.
“Jen, I know that’s you.” Judy walked a bit closer and crouched down enough to poke the back of Jen’s shoulder.
Jen sniffled loudly, “You’re not allowed back here, you know,” she snapped.
“You’re back here,” Judy said matter-of-factly. “Why are you crying?”
Jen sniffled harder and wiped her face with her hands, “I’m not crying!”
Judy stayed silent for a moment. “Do you need a hug? Sometimes when people cry, they want a hug.”
“No.” Jen said quickly, still not turning around. “I don’t like to be touched.”
“Okay.” Judy crossed her legs and plopped down on the ground beside her. “What happened to your hair?”
Jen rubbed her eyes again and turned to face forward. “It got stuck on something. But my mom’s gonna think I ripped it out and get mad at me.”
Judy frowned. “Can’t you tell her what happened?”
Jen shook her head. “She’ll think I’m lying. I told her I hated my braid and it hurts my head. But I kept it and now I’m gonna get in trouble anyways.”
“But, I can do a braid!” Judy said excitedly.
“What?”
“I can fix it! She won’t know!” Judy had already decided.
Jen thought it over for a moment, “Are you sure you’re good enough at it?”
Judy nodded, “I’ve practiced!”
Jen looked around, “Can you do it fast?”
“Yeah!” In a second Judy was kneeling in the grass behind her, probably leaving green stains on the knees of her overalls, and rebraiding Jen’s hair.
Judy was almost finished with her braid when they heard a teacher yelling, “Girls! Come on out. You know you’re not allowed back there!”
“Oh crap,” Jen muttered under her breath, quiet enough that the teacher couldn’t hear her say a bad word. “We have to go, Judy, we’ll get in trouble.”
“Wait a second,” Judy said reassuringly—a tone most seven year olds aren’t capable of. “We’re sorry, Miss!” Judy called back. “My name is Judy! I’m new here! I didn’t know!”
“Hello Judy, I’m Ms. Perez, I can give you a pass this time, but I need you to come on out now,” the woman called back in a tired voice.
“Can I just have a minute? My new friend’s hair got stuck in something. I’m fixing it!”
“Judy,” Jen whispered, “we’re gonna get in trouble.”
Ms. Perez sighed and crouched down enough to see the two girls, and that Judy was, in fact, braiding Jen’s hair, and that Jen’s face was red and tear-stained. Judy gave Ms. Perez a little wave. “This is Jen. Some boys were chasing her and her hair got caught on the bleachers,” she said before she continued braiding. Jen appreciated the fact that Judy was willing to speak for her, no one had ever done that before.
Perez looked to Jen, holding onto the bleachers for balance. “Is that true?”
Jen nodded quickly, but not hard enough to ruin Judy’s handiwork.
Perez nodded. “You can finish with your braid while I have my eye on you two, but then come right out, got it?”
Judy nodded quickly, “Yes, ma’am, I’m almost finished.”
Jen let herself smile, just a little bit. She was sure if Judy hadn’t been there she would have ended up getting in trouble, with both Ms. Perez and her mother. Jen let herself bask in the fact that Judy referred to her as “my new friend”.